


lacking in maturity

by LoserEddie



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Babysitting, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gaming, Gen, WAY too many snl mentions, literally just maeby and buster hanging out, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29855943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoserEddie/pseuds/LoserEddie
Summary: "it's a god damn surety, we're lacking in maturity!" - falsettos- - - - -“hi, uncle buster,” she opened the door, praying to whoever was hidden beyond the california clouds that he’d get too panicked about being alone with a kid and run off. the new, orange stress ball in his loose grip made her shoulders slump- she was stuck with this, wasn’t she?aka:chapter 1. maeby can't be trusted home alone, and buster's the only one up for the job of babysitter.chapter 2. maeby's finally the one doing the babysitting, all until gob arrives.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

it was a surprise to even _maeby_ that her mother decided buster should babysit. of course, there weren’t many options; michael was working, and gob- well, gob couldn’t be trusted with a damn thing. but _buster?_ she would be safer in prison, a place her uncle was likely to end up when he lost track of maeby five minutes in. 

she honestly would have preferred if she could stay home on her own. she had nothing _against_ buster. his mannerisms were a bit off, but nothing she hadn’t grown used to in the past few months she spent in newport beach. _everyone_ was weird there. 

her defiance towards having to be watched only made her parents agree that she couldn’t be trusted by herself. her father said she’d “run away and never be seen again” if they took that chance. it was kind of funny; the only time they cared was when it only brought her misery. 

she had twenty minutes home alone before buster arrived, soon extended to _thirty_ minutes due to him sleeping in. such a short amount of time had never passed quicker- she barely even beat one match in _halo_ _2_ before the doorbell rang. she rolled her eyes; didn’t he know he could walk in?

“hi, uncle buster,” she opened the door, praying to whoever was hidden beyond the california clouds that he’d get too panicked about being alone with a kid and run off. the new, orange stress ball in his loose grip made her shoulders slump- she was stuck with this, wasn’t she?

buster’s face lit up, “you’re still here! michael said you’d probably be gone by now.”

she wasn’t sure if that was meant to be passive aggressive. then again, it was unlikely buster knew how to act that way at all. he made his way into the model home, board games tucked under his arm. maeby took one last look at the outside world. this must have been what george sr. felt like.

“mom said i could only bring two board games- do you wanna play monopoly or checkers?”

“ _actually_ ,” just as he set the board games onto the counter, she picked them up and tossed them to the dining room table. checkers landed perfectly; however, monopoly wasn’t so fortunate. its contents spilled onto the floor. rest in peace, soldier, “i was thinking we could play video games. you know what those are?”

buster nodded. he grabbed his phone and held it out to his niece, “i have a few, if you wanna play them.”

“not _those_ , i mean _actual_ video games. come on.”

* * *

  
  


attached to the television set was a first generation xbox, games littered across the surrounding carpet. maeby lifted a couch cushion and retrieved two controllers. she had to hide the good ones; gob and michael were notorious for throwing the others whenever they lost to one another.

the expensive console was actually their _third_ of the same kind, the previous two broken by an enraged family member after a failed round of _mortal kombat: shaolin monks_ . these fits of rage, some even caused by michael _himself_ , always ended with an extensive lecture about saving money. family game nights had since become a rare occasion. nobody complained about the slight decrease in arguments.

maeby plugged in the pair and held one out to buster, “make sure you don’t go too far or the controller will unplug, which- might be dangerous, i don’t really know. electrical hazard maybe?”

she shrugged. she wasn’t lying about not _fully_ knowing the true dangers, but she assumed it wouldn’t be all that bad; the only “hazard” would be an ingame loss. in all honesty, it was an attempt to get buster at least the _slightest_ bit nervous. yeah, yeah, she knew that causing panic attacks wasn’t the _nicest_ thing- but she didn’t want him coming over in the _first_ place!

what shocked her, however, was the total lack of concern he showed. he simply hummed in understanding and sat on the carpet. maeby didn’t bother to grab the beanbag chairs. after turning on the console, she plopped down next to buster and cranked up the volume. he didn’t like loud noises, she _knew_ this would bug him.

“what are we gonna play?” he turned to her, excited as a kid on christmas. how was he still _breathing?_

“you ever tried def jam?” she smirked.

“isn’t that a music company?”

* * *

  
  


buster had only _flinched_ throughout the gameplay; not screamed, or cried, or _any_ of the childish things he was known to pull. he would tense every so often, like when the bass boosted too heavily or a sudden attack caught him off guard, then return to smiling and playing along. 

even for a new player, he wasn’t _all_ that bad, either. he had even won a few times- maeby would jokingly say it was because she “went easy” on him, and though he tilted his head whenever she brought it up, he just laughed it off. he _never_ had guts like this. was it out of spite? jesus, had _michael_ set him up to this? maeby huffed; as stupid as buster was, she wouldn’t doubt he had the ability to do whatever michael said.

“we should probably get lunch,” for the first time in her life, maeby gave up. no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t break him; who knew that _buster fucking bluth_ could be an unstoppable force? 

“did lindsay leave anything to eat?”

“nope.”

buster stood, “guess i’m making something, then.”

* * *

  
  


maeby sat on the kitchen island, kicking her legs against the nearby counter as buster stood in front of the toaster. he hadn’t looked away from it since he put the bread in; it was a shock he even knew how to operate the thing. still fumbling with his stress ball, he cleared his throat. maeby glanced towards him.

“i’m- i’m doing a good job, right?” he adjusted his glasses, gaze still set on the toaster.

“at what?”

“being an adult. i’m a grown man and my siblings don’t even trust me to take care of myself. but i’m a good uncle, right?”

as the toaster popped and buster jumped back, maeby finally figured it out: it wasn’t that her parents _wanted_ buster to babysit, _he_ did. he wanted to put _actual_ effort into taking care of her. she shifted closer to where he stood.

“you’re the _best_ uncle, uncle buster. they’re all just stupid dweebs, alright? don’t listen to ‘em,” it’s a skill maeby had picked up long ago; she just hoped buster could do the same. a part of her still thought he couldn’t. maybe that was the problem, “i’m proud of you.”

buster’s face lit up, “you are?”

“no, i’m just lying straight to your face.”

“oh-”

“i’m _kidding!”_

“so you’re-”

“yeah, i’m proud of you, for real. i meant all that,” she hopped off the counter and pat his back, “you’ll catch onto the sarcasm thing eventually. how about a round of dance dance rev?”

* * *

  
  


michael expected the worst. he expected the house to be up in flames with buster running out the door and leaving maeby inside. stopping his bike in front of the towering home, he noticed a lack of fire- on the outside, at least. he retrieved the key from its hiding spot and pushed open the door.

no flames inside, or even the smell of smoke. michael took a quick glance around the main room. the fire’s absence was good; the absence of his brother and niece? not so much. he sighed, dropped his briefcase on the ground, and went to call his mother. as his hand neared the phone, he heard it:

... _gunshots?_ he took off towards the source, stumbling into the living room and bracing for an intruder. no ski-masks or oversized money bags in sight, just- grand theft auto. he looked down. there sat maeby and buster, virtually fleeing from the san andreas police. he tilted his head.

“gee, bustie, you sure you’re okay with this game?” he bent down between the pair, resting a hand on buster’s shoulder as he glanced towards the screen, “you- shit, you’re good at this.”

“i shot a stripper!”

“a _prostitute_ , uncle buster. strippers don’t go all the way,” maeby corrected.

“right, right, prostitute- when’d you get home, brother?”

michael settled on the carpet and rested his arms on his scrunched-up knees, “just now. you can head back home if you want, pal, i can watch maeby.”

“do i have to?”

“...well, uh, i guess not. i’ll let mom know you’re sticking around a while. have… fun?”

he stood and looked between the pair. either maeby had broken buster, or he had finally succumbed to the stress of the family and gone insane. for now, he could live with the latter. 


	2. 2.

“how the tables have turned,” maeby hummed, eyes settled on the familiar balcony above. five months had passed since buster’s “step towards maturity”, as he so proudly called it, and it remained to be the most grown thing he had ever done. his days of caretaking had ended soon after, a newfound spite towards children forming when his new “little brother”, annyong, arrived, the moment equivalent to the birth of satan’s offspring.

so maeby didn’t see her uncle as often, but she didn’t complain much. he was nice, friendly, all that junk- but her opinion of him hadn’t greatly changed over those few hours; she just thought of him as less as an annoying cousin and more as an annoying  _ uncle _ . 

but it was one thing that always seemed to end with them together: everyone else being too busy to manage them. now, though, it was  _ maeby _ that had the responsibility. annyong had a parent teacher conference that lucille couldn’t get the siblings to manage, so she had to tag along, and buster was left on his own, juice to be found in every cabinet.

the bland halls filled with elderly residents felt to crush upon maeby as she walked through the silence. she hated this place, and not just because of her grandmother being an inhabitant; it was the fact that, for most, it was where they went to  _ die _ . no young couples could be caught - well -  _ dead _ in the complex.

“lupe?” maeby stepped past the askew shoes blocking the path from the doorway, “uncle buster?”

she kicked the knocked-over coffee table as she passed it. noticing the portraits still hung throughout the home, the possibility of this being any sort of robbery began to lessen. she followed the mess-filled trail to buster and annyong’s bedroom. well,  _ fuck _ . her first time in a boys-only room and it could lead to a crime scene.

one hand over her eyes and the other reaching forwards, maeby stepped into the room, expecting the overwhelming scent of smoke or copper- but there was nothing of the sort. the only thing reminding maeby of her presence in the bedroom was the familiar beeping of an alarm clock. she hesitated, then, lowered her arm from her eyes.

“you can go home, maeby.”

buster sat on his bed, staring at his alarm clock with a glazed look in his eyes. maeby rolled her eyes; yeah, she really should have seen this one coming.

“no, i can’t, because if i do, i don’t get cash,” maeby unplugged the alarm and looked at her uncle, “what’s the matter?”

“my life is a pathetic lie.”

“you mean you’re jealous?”

he fell silent. maeby grabbed his arm, “you’re shit at lying, man. come on, let’s go watch tv. i gotta catch up on saturday night live.”

buster stood, “but it’s not saturday?”

“exactly. i’m six seasons behind, we gotta pick up the pace!”

  
  


somehow, maeby’s miraculous abilities in persuasion had convinced buster to abandon the confines of his now-shared bedroom and instead wallow in the living room. he held a pillow to his chest as maeby separated the window curtains; sunlight counted as therapy, didn’t it?

“gangee won’t get pissed if i put this on, right?” maeby asked as she flicked through the snl seasons.

“who  _ cares? _ my mother doesn’t love me anymore.”

“welcome to the club.”

though never one to be  _ too _ open about these sort of emotions, she had to admit, she felt bad for the guy. she couldn’t  _ imagine _ being smothered and then just thrown to the side. but it was hard to sympathize with him when he was acting like such a  _ crybaby _ about it. her parents had never given a shit about her, and all it left her with was good old-fashioned trauma, not a sad-sack attitude.

she scrolled through the episodes, half-expecting buster to interrupt and ask for one of  _ his _ shows; but he just  _ sat _ there, silent. eventually, she gathered the nerve to elbow him, motioning the remote towards the screen.

“alright, i’ll cave- which one do  _ you _ wanna watch?” a rare offer,  _ especially _ to someone that wasn’t george michael or her uncle gob. having the remote in the bluth-funke household was nothing less than an honor, “we got chris pratt, sarah silverman, bill ha-”

“i like bill hader.”

“you know who that is?”

buster nodded, “yeah, he’s hilarious. how wouldn’t i know him?”

suddenly, maeby had a lot more respect for her uncle.

  
  


it took a few hours before maeby had finally managed to break through buster’s obnoxious sadness. he still complained a lot, and kept on mentioning his mother hating him at random intervals, but these things were actually quite normal; it just usually came from his  _ siblings _ . at least she could actually  _ stand _ his rambling. 

buster turned out to be quite the fan of snl, even if he was rarely allowed to watch it. he didn’t get some of the jokes- something that maeby had expected. no man as sheltered as her uncle would get all of the comedy that came from one of the funniest shows of all time, in her opinion.

she’d never admit this, but… they were having  _ fun _ . not normal fun, moreso the kind that came from a sometimes overdramatic uncle, his occasionally caring niece, and an afternoon spent in front of a television set. as weird as it was, it was enough for maeby.  _ more _ than enough.

a few hours in, the front door swung open. buster jumped, which sort of made maeby laugh, even if he could be alarmed for a very good reason. however, this  _ wasn’t _ one of those good reasons; unless he should, in fact, be scared of his eldest sibling, gob. maeby could already hear the audience applause in her head as he sped in- that was just the effect he had to a room.

“are you looking for your stuff?” maeby asked, swiftly interrupting the typical  _ ‘hey, brother!’ _ that came from buster as he pulled himself from his hiding spot behind the couch.

the “stuff” that maeby was referring to was actually another one of gob’s dead doves, brutally murdered due to a horrific mistake in one of his illusions. the poor bird was given a bath in the sink - though this was just to douse the flames - and rolled up in a paper towel before quickly being tossed under buster’s bed, where it had remained for a week. maeby figured the rotten smell might have added to buster’s unending misery. 

gob nodded, hardly noticeable due to the fact he was halfway down the hall, “did mom find it?” 

“probably not,” she turned the snl episode back on for buster and followed her other uncle, “so, why were you doing your magic here in the first place?”

“i can’t tell you that- it’s an illusionist thing.”

“right, right. well, you could have just let it burn, that would have saved you a lot of trouble.”

“and live with the shame? definitely not. besides, i finally found a place that takes refunds.”

“i don’t think they’re going to take a  _ dead bird _ back, uncle gob.”

“but they  _ might _ .”

“but they probably won’t.”

“don’t ruin this for me, maeby- did buster move rooms?”

maeby stopped in front of gob and pointed to the one open door, which very clearly showcased buster and annyong’s bedroom. he mumbled a “thanks” before heading in. with a sigh, maeby headed back to the living room. buster was still enthralled with the tv- hey, better than just staring at his alarm clock.

trying to ignore the exaggerated gagging that came from the bedroom, maeby settled into the couch, “well, what’s the verdict on the cast?”

“i don’t like kate,” buster said.

“are you  _ kidding? _ she’s one of the funniest repertory players!”

“she kinda reminds me of mom.”

“no way, man. kristen wiig, maybe, but not  _ kate _ .”

there came crashing from the bedroom- buster had joined in on the selective hearing, “but they look the same, right?”

“i mean, i can see the similarities in bone structure. kate’s way nicer than gangee, though.”

“you’ve met her?”

“...you got me there.”

  
  


a lot of things confusing to most were commonplace to maeby; for example, while many would question gob leaving an empty bedroom with a forming black eye and a ripped paper bag, maeby figured some things were better left unsaid. she only offered a nod of acknowledgment as he settled on the other sofa with a heavy sigh, dropping the dove’s cheap coffin to the floor.

“chris rock is hosting? love that guy,” he pulled his phone from his pocket, “send me his monologue later, the pet shop is closing soon.”

as gob began to exit, maeby considered the idea of simply letting him go. she was fully capable of being a sweet, responsible niece. of course, capability did not equal amusement. she much preferred acting like a child then growing up all too soon.

so she stood on the couch and valiantly said, “uncle gob, if you leave, i’m telling gangee you gave buster weed.”

gob squinted, “i don’t even  _ have _ weed.”

“yeah, but i do. and i could totally give it to buster and blame you. who would gangee believe; a cute kid or a grown man?”

“she wouldn’t believe anyone.”

“you’d get in trouble anyway. i mean, how could i purchase pot in the first place? you have more resources.”

“...are you  _ blackmailing _ me?”

“kind of.”

in reality, maeby  _ hadn’t _ bought any weed. even though she knew gob would be visiting and had seen the opportunity right away, she knew she wouldn’t have to go that far with it. threats always worked- at least with gob.

“so you want me to just-  _ stay _ here?” gob asked.

“no, i want you to babysit buster and give me,” how much was gangee paying her? ah, right, “forty bucks.”

“i thought you were babysitting him!”

“well, you’re here now, so why should i? now fork over the cash, uncle gob.”

he glared at her, trying to give the impression that he wouldn’t just succumb to a teenager’s mind games- even though she knew he would. frankly, gob should have been more grateful. maeby always went easy on him, gob being her second favourite and all, so a scheme every now and again shouldn’t mean that much.

five minutes later and maeby was skateboarding down the pier, forty dollars richer. sometimes, her family wasn’t so bad: who else would fall for her bullshit that easily?


End file.
